Nora Jean and the Darkness
by Somnis
Summary: "We've all got both light and dark inside of us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are." -Sirius Black
1. i

"_We've all got both light and dark inside of us._

_What matters is the part we choose to act on._

_That's who we really are."_

_-Sirius Black_

i.

The kettle whistled softly in the hush of early morning as tapered, callused fingers drummed nervously against the glossy grain of the antique mahogany table. The bones of the hands were fine and light, the nails neat and uniform. A thick wedding band, dull with age, encircled the ring finger of her right hand. Absently gazing into space, she wondered how much the piece of furniture had cost the master of the estate. In all of her sixty-five years as a caretaker, she didn't think the table had ever been used. It was a shame, really. A waste. But she supposed the wealthy could afford expenses such as that as she drew what appeared to be a stick from the pocket of her apron. But closer inspection would reveal that was not merely a stick. It had been carved and whittled, fitted into a handle. There was something else about it. Something that couldn't really be categorized. The object resonated an aura as old and powerful as time itself. A wave of the wand lifted the kettle from the burner and sent it soaring through the air until it came to a neat stop atop the table. The water gave a quiet hiss as it splashed into the hand-crafted china teacups, swirls of dark orange and pale green emerging from the tea leaves at the bottom of each.

"You know she won't drink that, Camille."

The housekeeper turned her head slightly to appraise the visitor, keeping the task at hand in her peripheral vision. His unruly brown hair was tousled on either side, giving him the appearance of having licked a live outlet. Blue eyes were glassy and slightly unfocused from lack of sleep. His shirt was untucked on one side and his trousers had come uncreased. It was not often that the master of the house came down to the kitchens, and it was even less common for him to let his appearance become so unkempt. Not that she blamed him.

A small smile graced the housekeeper's lips as her worn hands took up a pair of tongs and dropped a single sugar cube into each cup. The house had settled into a tense silence, as if the estate had begun to hold its breath. The master of the estate observed her quietly as she busied herself with adding milk to both cups. Petite and stocky, Camille had been serving the Remington family since her childhood. Her curls were the color of copper, though streaks of gray had begun to show in the past few years. Her eyes were still the same bottle green, her skin still the color of aged ivory and creased with laughter lines. He smiled as she offered him the second cup.

"It wasn't meant for her, sir," She gestured at the kitchen ceiling, above which spanned the rest of the estate. "There isn't anything we can do for her until she's good and ready. But I thought you could use an excuse to not sit by her bed and pull your hair out." Her keen eyes flicked from his tousled hair to his untidy clothes. He sighed.

"It shouldn't be taking this long," Unsure whether the murmur was directed at her or at himself, Camille remained silent for a moment, as if considering his words. In reality, though, she was willing herself to remain patient. She'd had the opportunity to deliver several babies during her time as caretaker. Aramis, she reminded herself, did not come armed with that experience. A sigh escaped her chapped lips as she lay a hand on his arm.

"The little one will arrive when she's ready, and not a moment sooner."

As if on cue, the door to the kitchen burst open, revealing one of the many servants massaging a stitch in his side. A boy no older than thirteen, he was winded, as if he'd run the entire length of the estate to the kitchen, which, it turned out, was exactly what he had done. But the boy was sputtering sentence fragments between gasps as he leaned against the doorway.

"Sir! The mistress sent me to find you! It's time!"

Both adults were on their feet before the boy had finished speaking. Camille gripped her wand tightly as Aramis placed a hand on her elbow, and there suddenly was nothing but air in the place where they had once stood. They simply vanished, only to manifest in the master bedchamber of the estate. The sensation vaguely reminded Camille of being squeezed through a rubber tube as she righted herself, braced for the scene before her.

The Healer stood off to one side, casting anxious looks at the spellbook before her. Ancient runes dotted the cover of the tome; something to do with magic applicable to childbirth. Camille prayed that it was merely a precaution, wasting no time in closing in on the bed. The mistress of the estate lay abed with her belly huge, sweat beading along her hairline as her forehead creased with exertion. Her lips were white with pain, standing in stark contrast with her flushed face. Long, graceful fingers clawed at the sheets as the woman cried out in pain, her frantic husband reaching her side with three long strides. Her vicelike grip crushed Aramis' fingers as the housekeeper dabbed at Eleanor's damp brow with a washcloth.

"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but you need to push," Camille's lilting brogue soothed the mistress as yet another contraction wracked her petite body. Eleanor moaned in response, tears forming in her eyes. Losing patience, the housekeeper gently, but firmly, seized her shoulders and gave her a small shake. The action alone seemed to snap the mistress out of her painful trance and, in several minutes that felt like an eternity, the wail of a newborn baby sliced through the air, still with a tense silence. The housekeeper's gentle hands lifted the infant from the bed as the Healer descended upon the mistress of the house, and she pointed her wand at the baby. "_Tergeo,_" she murmured, wand siphoning blood from the child's delicate skin as the newborn squirmed and fought. Skilled hands guided the child's limbs until a linen diaper was successfully wrapped around her. The cyan blanket that followed had been knitted by Eleanor's deft hands for her newborn son, and Camille nestled the bundle into the new mother's arms as the Healer dabbed a cold cloth against her brow.

She had always been a beauty, but with the birth of her child, she was radiant. The mistress sat, seeming to emanate a golden glow as she shifted to greet the newborn. Her golden locks were damp with sweat, pulled back into a low ponytail to keep it out of her face. Her eyes were a frosty blue, shining with adoration as she pulled back the top of the blanket to press her lips against the infant's forehead. Camille shifted uncomfortably as the Healer peeked at the child over Aramis' shoulder.

"Congratulations, ma'am," She smiled warmly at the parents, bracing herself inside. "What will you be callin' her?" The new father chuckled, brushing a stray lock behind his wife's ear.

"Her? Whatever do you mean? This is my son. The Healers told us we were to have a boy."

"I beg your pardon, Master Aramis, but I'm certain the child is a girl." The housekeeper shook her head slowly, gesturing at the infant.

The silence that followed sent tremors into the very foundations of the universe as the world welcomed a little blonde baby girl into the world.


	2. ii

ii.

The fog turned the world into a inky blackness that seemed to go on to infinity; even the stars weren't visible in the present conditions. The dark blanket seemed to lay over the streets of SoHo that night; the theater district was uncharacteristically quiet, giving the place an almost haunted feel. Something broke the stillness suddenly; nothing more than a ripple in space that gave way to a hooded figure that seemed to appear from nowhere. The disturbance startled a cat picking through the garbage in an alleyway and the mangy-looking beast bolted with a hiss. A green flash of light erupted from beneath the cloak of the figure and the animal stopped instantaneously, struck dead. Not more than a millisecond later, another figure appeared in the same manner as the first, though this newcomer did not wear a hood. His eyes were a shade of cobalt so deep and dark that it almost seemed black, his blonde hair falling gently into his eyes. The figure drew his wand carefully, keeping a wary eye on their surroundings before turning to the first figure.

"For God's sake, Artemis, there's no reason for a hood." The male's voice was impatient as he eyed his counterpart and rolled his eyes skyward. The hooded figure scoffed gently before perfectly manicured hands reached up to lower her hood. The removal of the article revealed a head of copper ringlets and steely gray eyes. Her skin was the color of old, creamy ivory, standing in stark contrast with her cloak. The garment was the color of a new moon, a deep charcoal that was not quite black. Tiny, delicate silver threads had been embroidered into an ivy pattern along the edges of her cloak. "_Lumos._" The tip of his wand illuminated with a bright spectral light, causing the girl to squint until her eyes adjusted.

"We need to find her." Artemis' tone was brisk and businesslike as she spoke, replacing the hood of her cowl and striding down an alley with long, lithe steps. She drew her wand and lay it flat on her outstretched palm. "_Point me."_ She whispered, the tip immediately swiveling to point directly behind her. Her pace quickened as the two hurried down alleyways and cut across sidestreets, glancing down the passages they did not take with their wand tips illuminated. Their search was thorough and extensive as they slowly swept the district, eyes and ears alert. It was nearly an hour before they even approached their first clue.

There was a pool on the sidewalk and wet shoeprints leading in a frantic fashion away from the mess. Artemis wrinkled her nose at the site and tried to push the knowledge of the substance from her mind.

"Her water broke."

"We knew it was going to." Felix's voice was grim as he spoke, lifting his lit wand to cast light further down the street. A soft groan escaped his lips as they followed the footprints further and came upon a more grisly scene. It was several feet inside of an alley to their left that Artemis first saw the object, at first thinking it was just abandoned garbage. But some nagging feeling had her turn and reevaluate the sight before her. "Artemis-"

"I know." Her lips were pressed together in a thin, white line. On the ground before her lay a human finger bearing a thin gold wedding band, and, the woman realized with a sinking feeling, a very tiny human eyeball. "Damn that woman." She cursed as she grabbed her partner and pointed with a shaking finger. Felix groaned and the two broke into a run. They had gone no more than two streets before they heard the agonized moaning and panting down yet another alley. The woman lay in a pool of blood, curled on her side and sobbing with tears streaking through the dried blood on her face. Muttering a curse, Felix drew his wand and muttered an incantation to produce a silver bullmastiff. He knelt and murmured a brief message before the ethereal creature streaked away into the inky night. Returning to Artemis' side, the two Healers knelt and began their work to successfully deliver the approaching newborn.

"Are we going to lose her?" The voice throbbed against her sensitive eardrums like an explosion. Impatient, irritated, and unmistakably female. Slowly, painfully slowly, she shifted in her prison; her extremities attempted to stretch in the cramped space. Claustrophia hit her like a train as contractions wracked her mother's body, the walls closing in on her like a landslide. White-hot anger flared in her chest and she wriggled in a desperate attempt to flee her prison, quickly replaced by a chill that ran to her tiny bones, her very soul. Her mind racing, she tried to decipher all of the information that she had at that particular moment in time. Where the hell was she? She had no idea; the only thing she knew was that she was breathing, which meant that she was alive. What exactly was alive? What was breathing?

Alive was being conscious; having a pulse and breathing and having neurons emitting electric signals between nerves so the body could perform involuntary functions. Neurons were tiny receptors in the body. Breathing was the act of filling the lungs with air and absorbing the oxygen. What was oxygen? It was the colorless, odorless gas that made up the atmosphere. What was this? This was alive. Still alive, or alive again? Just how "alive was she? What state was her body in? She didn't know. She felt nothing, not pain, not the sensation of being squeezed through a tube, not the tingling numbness of her skin. She simply had been imprisoned too long. How long was too long? An hour, a day, a week, a month? She knew not. She only knew that she was alive. She felt the gentle echoing beat of her heart, felt the blood moving sluggishly through her veins, the pricking sensation of her nerve ending coming alove after going so long without use. Her heartbeat slowly accelerated as she awakened, coming out of what felt like a deep sedation. Anger flared in her chest once more as the girl continued to speak as if she wasn't present, comatose, captive, or otherwise.

"I have no idea. Find out." A different voice this time, defensive and cold as the snappish reply came. Whose voice was it? It was so familiar to her. Why was it so familiar to her? She couldn't remember; she knew only that the voice made her angry. The voice had taken something away from her, something important. The ability to feel, to remember, to forget. Whose voice was it? She didn't remember. She remembered pain. She remembered the blackness that quickly had accompanied athe pain. Someone cleared their throat, the noise thunderous in the tense silence that fell.

"Should we do away with her once the child is born?" Someone new whispered, the terror in their voice almost tangible. The fear was something she didn't understand yet. She had begun regaining feeling in her extremities and she was slowly becoming aware of the fact that she was unable to move, completely at the mercy of the speaker. The other voice snorted derisively.

"We will have no use for her once we have the child." Her prison walls closed in on her once more and she was increasingly aware of the sensation of being squeezed through a tight rubber tube. Someone cursed, a woman screamed, and she was suddenly hyperaware of the freezing cold on her tender skin. The entire experience startled her; the newborn coughed up a mouthful of fluid before sucking in a deep breath, opening her mouth, and beginning to wail in despair. Everything from there seemed to happen in slow motion: the screaming subsided and was replaced by hushed sobbing that lapsed into silence. The Healers cursed in unison, the man beginning to work on the mother while Artemis moved to siphon blood from the child's skin. She quickly wrapped the infant in her cloak and cradled the bundle against her chest as the baby continued to cry softly. As the minutes passed, the crying subsided and the child squirmed in discomfort, the woman looking down at the bundle and hushing her absently. The anger built in the infant's chest.

Crimson eyes, the color of hellfire snapped open and the woman gasped. A thin line of shockingly scarlet blood dribbled from the left eye socket of the infant, the space completely devoid of the organ.

"Feli-!" The cry for help was drowned out by pressing silence as the two were engulfed in flames in seconds. They made no sound as they burned.

Hours later, in the smaller city of Bristol, a mousy-haired woman shuffled slowly to the front door in her slippers to retrieve the newspaper, a cup of coffee in hand. She reached to grip the brass handle of the door and wrench it open, squinting into the sunlight that peeked over the horizon. A gasp tore through her lips and the mug in her hand fell to the cement steps with a smash that startled the waiting bundle to tears. A baby sat, wrapped in an adult-sized cloak, on her doorsteps, her face streaked with a thin, smeared line of dried blood. Her eye was cemented closed by crusted, rust-colored blood and the lashes stuck to her cheek. The eye that was open was a shade of scarlet the color of fresh blood. The infant began to cry as the woman scooped her into her arms and began to gently rock and hush her. Glancing up and down the empty street, she hurried inside and closed the door, the door to her future opening as she did so.


End file.
